Page 59 of Skalterra By Nightmare
Tears streamed down Ciarán’s face, and he moaned through his clenched jaw. Orla reached for her discarded cloak and held it over his face to stifle his cries.
After a moment, his back relaxed against the mattress, and his arms went limp.
“Did you suffocate him?” I hissed.
Orla lifted her cloak to inspect the Grimguard.
“No, I think he passed out from the pain.”
Good. It was probably better this way.
I alternated between water and alcohol, taking my time now that Ciarán was unconscious again. Orla cut her cloak into bandages, but I hesitated before applying them.
“He probably needs an antibiotic.”
“I don’t know this word.” Orla frowned. “Is it like a tampon?”
“Something to fight the infection.” I hovered my finger over the lines of red that ran under his unburnt skin. “Even if this heals, the infection could kill him.”
Orla shook her head.
“The best we could do is bloodletting, but—”
“Bloodletting?” I repeated, finally tearing my eyes away from the Grimguard to gawk at Orla. “You still do that here?”
“How else are we supposed to fight infection?”
“You guys have magick! Doesn’t the Skal do anything?” I asked. She looked away with a tight frown on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault Skalterra hasn’t invented penicillin.”
“You and your Keldorian words tonight,” she sighed.
“Penicillin?” I let out a dry laugh. “It’s not that fancy. It’s basically mold.”
“I’m sure we could find some mold somewhere. Maybe the underside of the mattress? Or in the lavatory down the hall?”
I gave a low chuckle.
“While I’m sure the underside of this mattress is disgusting, it’s penicillium mold specifically. And even then, I have no idea how I’d purify it into something that would actually work.” I leaned back against the table again, watching the rise and fall of Ciarán’s chest. Sports Medicine had prepared me for rolled ankles and bloody noses, not extensive flesh wounds and pioneering antibiotics in a parallel realm. I’d done all I could. If Ciarán died, I would know it wasn’t because I didn’t try. “It’s funny. I actually did my final project on penicillin last year in my biology class.”
Orla nodded, but I knew the concepts of final projects and biology classes were probably as foreign to her as tampons.
“You’re very smart, Wren Warrender,” Orla whispered. The dull light of the bottle in her hands cast gentle shadows up her face to accentuate her cheekbones. “It’s very impressive that you are a physician at such a young age. Unless it’s just your Nightmare that appears young?”
I laughed absently, still watching the rise and fall of the Grimguard’s mottled chest.
“I’m not a physician. Far from it,” I said. “But yeah, I’m about as old as I look. I turned eighteen a few months ago.”
Orla’s face brightened in the Skal-light.
“The same as me! And you may not be a physician, but you sound like you know more than our experts, with your penicillin.”
“It would be more useful if I could actually get him some.” My eyelids itched, but I resisted the urge to pull at my eyelashes. Even if they’d grow back the next night when Galahad remade me, I didn’t want Orla seeing me pluck.
I pulled the sleeves of my Von Leer hoodie down over my hands to help keep my fingers at bay, but then I pushed them back up, all the way to my elbows, so I could stare at my palms and forearms.
I didn’t know the chemical composition of steel, but I’d still fashioned my fingernail into a metal siphon strong enough to puncture copper. My anatomy knowledge was rusty at best, but I’d still been able to grow shards of bone from my arms.
Maybe I didn’t need to know how to make penicillin. Maybewantingit would be enough.
